Mistakes
by clairon
Summary: In war people make mistakes. The King tries to make Faramir see that he is on the verge of making a bigger one....


Author's Note : Fanfic as therapy! I guess this is Wenham's flawed Faramir because I cannot see bookFaramir getting into this mess or reacting in this way. But sometimes people surprise you!

For Chris....

** Mistakes**  
  
"There is one thing more, Faramir," the King said, his voice mild and tainted with tiredness. It had already been a long session.  
  
Faramir had finished placing his papers into his leather satchel. He stood as he fiddled with the clasp. Now he sat down again and stared at the King, eyes wide with expectation.  
  
Aragorn hesitated. He had played this scene over in his mind since the audience the day before when he had been presented with the news. All night he had contemplated his strategy dwelling on the easy way, the way of not raising the indelicate matter with his Steward at all. He had soon dismissed that as the coward's way. It would also make him complicit in Faramir's wrong-doing. He thought he could understand why his young Steward had taken such a path but he did not believe it to be the right one. It was the road to ruin and somehow he must make the young man who sat eagerly before him understand that.  
  
But how? It was six months since the end of the War of the Ring, six months since Mordor had fallen and six months since Aragorn had taken up his heritage. Six months since he had made Faramir his Steward. The young man's physical wounds were healed but the deeper psychological scars from a life spent in the increasingly critical heat of his father's gaze had left damage that only time and much support would heal. Aragorn seeing the potential of his Steward had given much trying to gain Faramir's trust, and even now he could see the promise of the man budding like a sapling in spring into a strong, competent and confident servant of Gondor. The progress in the rebuilding of the City ravaged by war that the young man had described earlier in the current meeting had proved that Faramir had taken to his role with enthusiasm and no little skill. And the steely blue eyes watched the King now had a hint of warmth and possibly even more....  
  
Would Aragorn squander the progress they had made, once he raised this issue? Was that enough reason not to raise it? No, there was far more at stake here than the Steward's fragile pride. But still Aragorn had come to respect and love the able and keen young man before him and as Faramir sat patiently waiting for his King, he looked so achingly young and vulnerable. Aragorn did not want to hurt him; Faramir had suffered too much already.  
  
"I received a deputation yesterday," Aragorn began. There, he had started, now there was no alternative but to carry on and Aragorn did so but the taste of betrayal was bitter in his mouth particularly as he saw the conflicting emotions chase across Faramir's handsome face as he dealt his deadly blow. "From a woman called Bronwe from the third circle."  
  
Faramir quickly conquered any revelation of emotion as he had frequently done in the past. The mask he offered his King was one of complete blandness, only his eyes glistened with life in his pale face.  
  
"You know her?" Aragorn asked.  
  
His voice was steady although, Aragorn thought he detected a slight tremor, as Faramir replied, "The lady is known to me."  
  
Aragorn waited. Faramir looked down at the floor unable to hold his King's prompting gaze and unwilling to say more.  
  
The room felt suddenly stiflingly close and hot. Aragorn's chair grated nosily on the polished marble floor as he stood up in a quick movement. He moved to the windows and opened one. He breathed in the cool, fresh spring wind that rushed past him.  
  
"'Tis a day for riding," he muttered, wishing he could be away from this discomfort. "Not talking."  
  
Faramir remained immobile at the table.  
  
"Talk to me, Faramir," Aragorn said gently as he remained at the window.  
  
Faramir lifted his head and gulped. "I will resign, of course," he said stiffly.  
  
"And then what?"  
  
"Your pardon?" Faramir looked confused.  
  
"I expected more of you," Aragorn said.  
  
Faramir flushed, his head went down again. "I am sorry. I have been very stupid," he said.  
  
Aragorn snorted. He had to continue but he feared where this course would take them both. Still he had to make Faramir see.  
  
"You have," he replied. "But not in the way you think."  
  
Faramir was completely still, his hair falling over his face to hide whatever emotion his composure could not control. Aragorn moved back to his seat.  
  
"Were you going to tell anyone?" Aragorn asked. "Or were you set on this pathetic course of ignoring the issue in the hope it would go away? It never does, Faramir. Does Eowyn know?"  
  
Faramir lifted his eyes to meet the King's. They were hard and dry. "No," he replied.  
  
Aragorn sighed. "Build a castle on sand and it will tumble down eventually."  
  
Faramir nodded. "I was going to tell her," he said. "But it has never been the right time."  
  
"And there will be a right time for such news?" Aragorn could feel his patience slipping. "I think not and the longer you hold it back, the harder the blow will fall. Why have you not been honest with her?"  
  
"I will be, I just..." Faramir stopped.  
  
"Faramir you are being a fool! You risk losing everything, all you have fought so hard to keep, all you hold dear. Bastards are born every day in this City, mistakes are made! It is the way that we react to such mistakes that shows our mettle, our courage, our honour!"  
  
Faramir clenched his fists. The thought ran around his head, 'I will not let myself fall apart, not in the face of gentleness and sympathy, not when I endured so much more in the bitter eye of my father's storm.' He took a deep breath and quashed his feelings.  
  
Aragorn leaned forward, his eyes searching the younger man's for any sign of emotion but Faramir had closed himself off.  
  
"Don't do it, Faramir," he said softly, eyes wide and pleading. "Do not take the coward's way, you are too honest and honourable and courageous for that. The very wisest man can be as a child when he ponders his own feelings. That is why we have friends. Talk to me, Faramir, tell me how it is. Talk to me not as you would with your King but with your friend."  
  
Faramir let out a ragged breath. "I have had no friends," he said. "Only Boromir has ever listened to me and he is gone."  
  
Aragorn reached across the table and took the Steward's trembling hands in his own. "Always you do this," he said gently. 'Denethor you have much to answer for,' he thought but knew that such bitterness would not help Faramir now. Instead he preferred to concentrate on the positive. "Think of how it has been these past six months, have you not enjoyed working with me?"  
  
Faramir nodded. "Very much," he said.  
  
"You have been my rock. Everything I have asked of you, you have done, Faramir. With every day you grow to fit the Steward's role more snugly. I respect and I value you but more than that I have come to love you. Of all the Lords of Gondor, you are the one I would want as my friend. I will call on you, I have already done so, but friendship must be given as well as taken." Aragorn paused as his eyes rested on those of the man before him. "Tell me now, as your friend, this guilty secret you have held in your heart for so long. This mistake you have made."  
  
Faramir gulped and disentangling his hand from his King's commanding grip, he reached for the glass of water he had left on the table. He took a long swig, using the time to calm his jangling nerves.  
  
"There is not much to tell," he began softly. "In war many things happen that are not planned but simply must be borne. I was a Ranger Captain for a long time. As the enemy became stronger, so my forces in Ithilien became weaker. We suffered and we fought but the days became blacker and hope began to die in our hearts. I was consumed by the war and protecting my men, everything I did was for them. All else became insignificant. Even Boromir, who I rarely saw, became as a dream to me, I began to believe he had never really existed except in my imagination. There was no world but for the stench of rotting corpses and the cries of dying men. Oh my men! I cared so deeply for my men; every death became a further blow to my bleeding and wounded heart. I was too close, too involved. I lost my perspective, I knew it but I could not disengage, for without my men I was nothing. I was very close to losing myself then." He shook his head slowly, "So close to the edge."  
  
Silently Aragorn stood and moved around the table as the other man spoke. He sat down now on the chair next to his Steward and nodded his understanding as Faramir's moistening eyes sought his own.  
  
"Go on," Aragorn prompted softly, wishing he did not have to put the younger man through such pain but concluding that this liberating release was needed. Faramir had never spoken to his King of his life in Ithilien. "You have held it in too deeply for too long; there is no weakness in sharing it now."  
  
Faramir gulped once more. "Anborn, my lieutenant saw the signs. He brought me back to Minas Tirith, unknown to my father of course; Anborn knew I was in no fit state to face a confrontation with him, for some rest and recuperation."  
  
"And it was then you met Bronwe?"  
  
"I was vulnerable and numb. I was not thinking. I wanted only the feel of human kindness, I was lonely and alone. I wanted to be touched by something that was not pain or suffering...." He stopped.  
  
"Are you saying she took advantage of you, Faramir?" Aragorn asked.  
  
Faramir let out a dry metallic chuckle. "Would that I could say so. For that would at least free me from the responsibility for this mistake. But she did not. She was kind and gentle, warm and full of life and so generous. She was exactly what I needed to find myself and I took all she offered with grasping, greedy hands, not once stopping to think of the consequences."  
  
"You had given of too much, been selfless in the support of your men; such is the peril of command. It is not surprising you needed to be cared for too," Aragorn said softly. "It happens in war."  
  
Faramir ran his hands through his hair. "But it is no excuse," he responded. "And if it excuses my actions then, it certainly does not how I have behaved since."  
  
"Have you ever seen the babe?" Aragorn asked.  
  
Faramir shook his head. "It is stupid, but I thought if I knew nothing of it... of her... I could believe she did not exist. She was not mine."  
  
"She has your eyes, Faramir," Aragorn said softly. "And your golden red locks. As far as one can tell with these things, there can be no doubt."  
  
"You have seen her?" Faramir said. "Bronwe brought her here yesterday. She is quite beautiful. Bronwe has reached the end of her tether. She has tried all ways to contact you but you have stubbornly denied her." Aragorn reached out and held the Steward's clenched fist. "You are missing so much and that is what I do not understand, Faramir. It was your mistake, why do you make the innocent pay?" Faramir gulped and shook his head slowly. He felt the same way Denethor had made him feel, unworthy, tainted, valueless, guilty. He could not find the strength or the will to respond. He felt himself descending into the passionless place deep in his soul where he had hidden to escape his father's acid tongue.  
  
"She will not go away, no matter how much you wish for it. She is live, flesh and blood, your flesh and blood!" Aragorn allowed his voice to rise with his chagrin for now he knew the story, he could understand Faramir's actions even less. Now, using the benefit of all his experience, the older man knew was the time to press the advantage, he would have to trust their relationship was strong enough to bear the strain.  
  
"Her mother told me that she often asks why she does not have a father like the other children in her class. She asks was he killed in the war, like the fathers of some of her little friends. Was he courageous and brave? Did he die defending the honour of Gondor, defending what is good and proper? Defending innocence? Bronwe asked me to ask you how she should respond."  
  
It was a vicious attack and Aragorn could tell by his gulping and the panic in his eye that it was hitting the target. Faramir was not defending himself but instead seemed to be absorbing the blows, falling back, as ever, into the defensive strategy he had employed against his father.  
  
"You are better than this, Faramir. I know it. There are hundreds of bastards in this City but only one that is your responsibility. How can I accept that you are with me on my reforms, that you believe in what I am trying to do for my people, if you fail in this one act? I need honesty in my Steward but more than that I need compassion!"  
  
"Then I will resign," Faramir offered once more.  
  
"No!" Aragorn was on his feet glaring at his Steward. "I will not let you take the easy way and slink off into the shadows, denying your destiny and depriving your people, not to mention your daughter, of your talent and love."  
  
Slowly Faramir raised his head. There were tears in his eyes now. "What would you have me do, my Lord?" he asked, the catch in his voice now unmistakeable.  
  
"What do you think you should do?" Aragorn's voice was suddenly even as he slumped back into his chair.  
  
"I have done what I thought was right," the son of Denethor said softly.  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "You have done what your father would have you do, hiding behind the safety of words like propriety and respectability when you deliver naught but the opposite. Is that really what your heart believes to be right? I do not think so. Tell me, Faramir, tell me what you should do."  
  
"I am Lord Steward of Gondor," Faramir said. "I cannot have an illegitimate child."  
  
Aragorn snorted, "But you do," he pressed. "And what difference does it make to the way you fulfil your duties? I know you are the best Steward I could possibly have, prove it to me, Faramir."  
  
Still he hesitated, his face unsure, for once reflecting the turmoil he felt. "What of Eowyn?" he said.  
  
"Tell her all that you have told me. The Lady Eowyn is learned in the ways of war and the hearts of men. She will understand. What I believe she will not understand is your denial of a beautiful little girl made from your own blood."  
  
Aragorn leaned forward. "No one is expecting you to marry Bronwe or even formally announce little Miriel as your own, that must be your choice but I will expect you to take your responsibility as her father seriously. It does not matter that no one else knows, it only matters that you and Miriel know. That is all I counsel you Faramir, as your friend, not your King."  
  
Faramir nodded slowly. "I know that I have not been reasonable. I know that I could have done more and that I was a fool to hide from the problem but I was paralysed. At first, after I was told of her birth, I was in Ithilien without hope, fighting only because it was all I had left to do. I could not find a grain of love in my soul for anything and I thought I would die along with my brave comrades. In so doing my problem, at least would be solved. Then when I returned to Minas Tirith my time was taken with my father, I had no stamina to face other less intense threats. Since you healed me of the Black Breath I have been busy with the role of Steward and it was easy to push less pressing but no less important matters from my mind. I told myself I would do it next week but next week became the week after and then the next. I still told myself I would face it but I began to hope something would happen and I would not have to."  
  
"Faramir, I cannot judge you in this and I do not presume to. I cannot say what is right or wrong for you," Aragorn's voice was tinged by concern. "All I can tell you is I saw a very pretty little girl longing for love, yesterday. It would be a crime for her father to deny her and he would lose so very much as well. You only have once chance at this. Think on it, Faramir."  
  
The Steward stood up as he sniffed back his tears. He bowed formally to his King.  
  
"Thank you, my King," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. He lifted his bag and left hurriedly without glancing back.  
  
The King sat quietly, chewing his lip as he pondered all he had learnt during the meeting for a long time. Eventually the Queen entered and gracefully glided to her place at his side.  
  
He looked up at her and smiled. "You look beautiful, my darling," he said and taking her hand he kissed it tenderly.  
  
"You look sad," she responded as she sat down on the chair recently vacated by the Steward.  
  
Aragorn snorted. He stood up and stretched. "It is a hard thing to be a good King," he mused. "But a harder one to be a good friend."  
  
"And Faramir?" Arwen asked.  
  
Aragorn's smile was indulgent. "Even the very best of us make mistakes," he said. "We display our true quality in how we respond to our errors. Faramir will be fine. Now, I am starving, is it not time for tea?"  
  
"Now you begin to sound like a hobbit!" laughed Arwen.  
  
At the humble dwelling of Bronwe on the third level there was a hesitant knock at the door. Bronwe was just finishing cooking supper and little Miriel was playing with her ragged but much loved doll by the fireplace. Bronwe wiped her hands on her apron as she moved to open the door.  
  
She gasped at the sight of the man who stood outside. Finally pulling her wits about her she dropped a curtsey and whispered, "My Lord."  
  
"Bronwe, I have made a mistake." Faramir began haltingly. "Please forgive me. . . "  
  
Bronwe ushered him in to the small room, silently whispering her thanks to the King. It was true what she heard the people say about King Elessar, he was indeed a true healer.


End file.
